by Alex Sapegin
“It’s your choice, my friend. Either you kick the bucket that way, or our little friend Hurga will have some fun with you. He’s a very creative orc, and with him, you’ll suffer a lo-o-ong death.” The orc’s eyes began to burn like a maniac enjoying the thought of his victims’ torture. Troi began to tremble again.
“I… I’ll try…”
“All right, you see, we can come to a reasonable agreement, no need for name calling. If you had just told Master Hugo everything right away, we never would’ve met!
“You’re right, though, about your physical condition. The dungeon is not a spa, and the menu here shows it. But I’ll think of something for you.” Then, leaving off his jokingly affectionate tone, Nirel went on in a cruel, serious voice. “I’ll give you two days, you scum, to eat your fill and formulate the transferable philo-matrices. On the third day, you’ll have to pay for the food. If that barbarian doesn’t start to speak Alat and you don’t croak, the orc will have his way with you, got it?”
“Yes, thank you…”
Nirel left the cell, and the supervisor deftly closed the door and all the locks attached to it.
“Now you listen,” the elf turned to the dozing dolt. “Starting today, feed the prisoner Troi as you would one of the guards, with all the rations of meat and grains. If you even think of disobeying me, I’ll remember you sleeping on duty and your other faults, and Hurga will be happy to help me beat an understanding of discipline into your thick head.”
“It will be done!” the long-nosed man shouted at the top of his voice. He wouldn’t dare fail.
***
“What did those orcs call this wolf-man?” His Majesty, King Hudd asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“A-rei, Your Majesty,” the head mage pronounced in a deep base. “In their language, it means White Wolf.”
The king approached the orc’s adopted son, who was stretched out on pegs. A swarm of flies and horse flies buzzed above him, crawling on his body, which had been covered in swine blood. The prisoner’s dull stare became clear and looked the king up and down, then, resting on his crown with an enormous emerald in the center, flared up with malice and contempt.
“Flies. I thought he should suffer and feel pain, as Duchess Reirskaya had asked. How do flies help?” His Highness addressed his question to Nirel, who was maintaining a respectful bow.
“He’s suffering, Your Majesty. A thousand flies and horseflies, stinging one all over one’s body, brings excruciating pain,” the head mage answered instead of the elf.
“All right then, but I would lash him or stretch him on the rack. They’re the good, old, tried and true methods. Have you found a mage that can teach him to talk?” the King once again addressed the executioner.
“Yes, Your Majesty. In two days, the little wolf will remember how to speak in a human way.” He bowed low again. “The mage needs two days in order to formulate special spells that can teach,” Nirel added quickly, seeing a vein under the monarch’s left eye begin to bulge and his lips purse.
“Great job, Nirel! That’s quite fast, Your Majesty,” the royal mage came to Nirel’s aid.
“All right, I’ll remember your words. In two days, the little wolf should understand human speech.”
Nirel exhaled quietly; the danger had passed. The King nodded in response to the mage who whispered something in his ear and started to walk out of the executioner’s chambers, followed by his entourage, some of whom spat on the outstretched boy with relish as they passed by. Near the gates, His Majesty suddenly stopped and added, “Enough with the flies. Give him ten lashes. I don’t trust flies.”
***
Raston. Alo Troi. One week, four days prior…
Alo cowered in the corner. He hated himself but could do nothing with his fear. The elf had broken him, turned him into a cowardly dog. He couldn’t even end his own life; he wanted to live.
Today, he would die but, thank the Twins, it would be an almost painless death. Without any magical reserves, he would have to pour himself into it. First, his legs would stop working, then his arms would go numb, then his heart would stop. Not all at once; over the course of about two hours, give or take. Those hours would be his last trial. They wouldn’t hurt; one can’t feel pain with almost atrophied nerve endings. He had just one regret—his family wouldn’t know what happened to him. Although, no… let them be ignorant. I’ll simply disappear from their lives and not be too much grief for them. But if only I could see my daughter…
After the elf left the cell, two guards burst in and changed the hay for a mattress, threw him a ripped blanket; and brought him a whole kettle of vegetables and meat. Not waiting for the servants leave, Alo threw himself at the food, burning his fingers and tongue. He shoveled the hot bits into his mouth and swallowed without chewing. The kettle was empty in a minute. The redheaded guard returned and, frowning, took the empty kettle, left, and slammed the door. Alo burped and leaned his back against the cold wall. The elf had kept his promise regarding the food; he was equally capable of keeping his promise regarding the long, painful death. The fearsome orc, who was completely immune to Alo’s powers of suggestion, would break his bones with pleasure. A peaceful death was better.
Alo banged on the door and, ignoring the swearing and cursing of the supervisor, asked for writing tools. Remembering everything he had been taught and had taught to others, he began to work out the building blocks of a lingo-matrix.
***
Sometime later, the little window through which he received food opened, interrupting his work. Evening already? A bowl of piping hot porridge with butter and a big glass of juice slid through. When he finished eating, he knocked on the door and asked for a light to be put into the cell. He had a lot of work to do, and it must be done in under two days. The long-nosed supervisor swore profanely, but he granted the request. Alo wasn’t the only one who feared the elf.
***
The two days went by in a flash. The former teacher decided that his last work should be the best he’d ever done. The paper was filled with the outlines of the matrices for spelling and verb conjugation. A matrix for the Younger Edda was scribbled at the end of the last sheet in black boxes and arrows with sequential descriptions and step-by-step “filling” of each of the cerebral bases. But he wondered if he would have the strength to realize it. If so, the barbarian would not only speak, he would read and write Alat. Alo laid the papers out in front of him and scrupulously recalled the sequence of actions and activations of the barbarian’s cerebral points during the transition stages of the spell matrices and the direct transfer of information. Troi hoped that his bipolar would have at least a drop of reasoning and that his brain would be at least somewhat developed. Otherwise, it would be difficult, and all Alo’s efforts would go to waste.
The door screeched insufferably again, and the elf entered the cell. His cold eyes focused on Alo with an icy gaze.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. What is your last request?” the elf asked as if Alo were headed to the gallows.
“Wine, a glass of red.” Alo expressed his desire right away, knowing full well he would not return to the cell, no matter what happened. The elf nodded to the supervisor who took off like a gust of wind. In a moment, his hurried steps were heard; a guard came into the cell with a half-full wineskin.
“Drink up, and let’s get going.”
Alo took a few gulps, breathed for a moment and partook once more. “Enough!” the pointy-eared executioner snatched the wine away. “Shackle him and lead him to the courtyard.”
The light of the sun caused a whole river of tears that stung Alo’s eyes. After the gloom of the casemate cell, the world was full of bright colors and miraculously fresh air. Alo breathed deeply.
A door opened in the next building over, and three young guards, grunting as they tugged on a chain, dragged out a second prisoner who was resisting with his legs. Alo, squinting after them, tried to see who he would be
working with. The boy was a bit taller than average height with broad shoulders but thin. The guards ganged up on him and grabbed his arms altogether; the blacksmith appeared out of the blue and slapped shackles on the barbarian. They dragged him to a high wooden platform and strapped him to a thick plank with wide belts.
“Why did they shackle him?” Alo wondered aloud.
“Just to be safe,” the elf answered and gave the mage a nudge. “You’re on. They’re waiting for you.”
***
The barbarian turned out to be a boy, unskilled, but a mage. So much the better. Alo placed his palms on the young man’s temples and touched his forehead to the boy’s. He looked straight into the stranger’s dark blue eyes and dilated pupils. Alo fell into a trance, his lips already bearing the first activation spell.
He wasn’t able to enter the other’s mind on the first try; the boy put up a defense intuitively that shocked the mage by its strength, although it had been executed clumsily. Using a few distraction interweaves, Alo broke the shield. The internal world of the…barbarian…opened up before him. He saw all the boy’s memories.
Almighty Twins, merciful Intercessor! Images of another world overwhelmed the mage. He tried to examine the strange carts, driving without horses, and the giant buildings—over 20 stories—and metal birds—airplanes, the strange word came. The man turned out to be a traveler from another world, something Alo had never even heard of.
The other world faded, and images of memories began to implode one on top of another. The boy covered his memories and put up thought shields. Unbelievable—thought shields inside of thoughts! Tongue-twisting words, revolving orbs of all colors and spiky balls flying here and there wouldn’t allow the boy to concentrate. Once Alo built an impregnable fog, he bluntly burst into the other person’s mind, which was lit by rainbow-colored lights, stripes, and waves. There were millions of interconnections of various concepts, images, ideas, and actions. And I feared it would be a stupid animal.
The latest thought hadn’t yet had time to form when among the colors of the boy’s mind a decoy thought of foreign construction broke out. The image of a predator, a tiger, appeared before Alo. Its fangs were bared, its fur was standing on end, and it had sharp claws. The foreign behavioral matrix grew from the cerebral connections and actively pulsated in the center of the section responsible for aggression. In order not to allow the predator to interfere with him installing his units, Alo pulled on the link that held the construction of the matrix and broke the bond. The beast dissolved like a cloud.
Another week and it would have grown into the behavioral centers, where it would already have been impossible to destroy. Even so, it had reached the boy. Such matrices are found in the traps of ancient mages, but what was it doing in a visitor from another world?
The boy would remember the rage and strength for the rest of his life. The beast was destroyed, but the memory of it would remain. While the stun of the beast’s destruction had not yet worn off, Alo activated the keys to his prefabricated units and began the transfer of the matrices. The blow to his consciousness was so strong, he almost lost control, not only of the other person’s mind but of his own.
A funnel formed before the mage’s eyes. In an instant, the funnel turned into a tornado, sucking in images, language matrices and written word information packets at an extremely fast pace as the bipolar’s brain ate up information. All the Alat matrices were absorbed into the funnel, and Alo activated the Younger Edda, which was swallowed up as quickly as it was activated. Personal skills and the ability to wield mana were drawn into the funnel. For now, only simple ones like a basic power over the elements, but there was no doubt that the entire rest of the mage’s personality could be gobbled up just as quickly. Mustering up his willpower, Alo severed the contact and fell out of the trance.
He couldn’t feel his body anywhere below the neck. The rest of his body didn’t have long left. Andy—the strange name floated into Alo Troi’s head—stared at him from the log he was tied to.
“I’m going to die soon. But I have one thing to ask of you. If you can understand me, blink twice,” the mage whispered ardently. Andy blinked. “Good. If you are somehow able to survive, and you should go to Orten, tell my wife and daughter my last words. Tell them I love them, tell—”
“Address,” the visitor from another world said in a hoarse voice.
Alo licked his parched lips and told him the address, gave his last wishes and paused. His forehead was covered in sweat. Gathering his strength, he continued, “Don’t let anyone see that you can read and write.”
***
“Did it work?” the elf walked up onto the platform. Not waiting for an answer, he touched the mage under the chin. It was as if Alo had been struck by lightning. He saw the image of some battle…and…the elf’s death…that he would die of— Alo came undone with uncontrollable laughter.
“Answer me!” Nirel punched him in the face.
“A fortune teller told me ten years ago that my gift of seeing the future would one day awaken; she was right! I get a real pleasure from knowing that before I meet my death, I’ve seen yours! If only you knew… how you’re going to croak!”
“Tell me, you scoundrel!” the elf made a fist.
“His Majesty!” a herald’s projected voice rang out. The executioner pushed the unfortunate mage away and ran to greet the King.
Alo’s eyes glazed over; parts of his brain began shutting down. The end was near.
“Have you kept your promise?” King Hudd’s voice reached him, obviously addressing the hated elf.
“That fat, puffed-up peacock is your king? I feel bad for you…” came a voice right near Alo’s ear.
“Oh! Congratulations, Nirel. You’ve achieved your goal, and I commend you. Twenty lashes to the barbarian so that he might learn to respect the crowned heads.”
He then heard the footsteps of many people and again the King’s voice, but much closer now. “And this is the mage that taught the little animal to talk? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s dying. He’s a Tantrian spy, but we’ve forced him to work for the good of Rimm. And that wolf-boy—” the elf began to explain.
“You’re the shameful wolf!” Andy interrupted him.
“It’s very nice, isn’t it Nirel, that someone over-achieved his goals? The little beast has quite a sharp tongue now,” the king’s falsely sweet voice came again. “I have a great idea. Glue some fur and a tail on the little animal. Let it be that he might feel like an animal in my menagerie. Put him next to the dragon. Oh, and don’t forget the lashes. What do you think, gentlemen?” The court sycophants began all at once to assure the King of the brilliance of his idea.
Their voices got quieter and quieter… Alo saw in his mind a beautiful pair of eyes with a greenish rainbow around the pupils. Hel… She doesn’t have blue eyes, cold like mountain ice; it’s not true, what they say. The eyes of Death were loving and warm, like those of Alo’s grandmother. They called and beckoned him to her, promising peace and solace.
“I’m coming to your judgment, goddess!”
***
Raston, the Royal Menagerie. Andy. One day prior…
The stream of visitors dried up. The supervisor locked the gates. The street sweepers came out onto the square in front of the cage and the enclosure. There were huge piles of rotten food everywhere.
Andy straightened his back and stretched out as much as the shackles allowed. Everything hurt. Those accursed boys. I’d like to wring their chicken necks…
He fumbled about around him until he found a whole apple among the corks and rotten fruit, almost untouched by the bad stuff. He rubbed it on the fur on his stomach and bit into it. He was hungry. The daily battle with muteness and the bruises and scrapes from fruit and rocks thrown at him took its toll.
The dragon’s chains clinked in his cage. How long had they been living next to one another already? It seemed like an eternity, and there had never been any other life—only the enclo
sure and the cage, and the dragon next door, who turned out to be his friend. Sadly, Andy wasn’t able to talk to him; no one removed the chains from his snout. Andy did the talking, and the dragon blinked, shook his head, wiggled his fettered wings or beat his tail.
His neighbor was larger than the skeleton in the bald hill. He was the size of two African elephants stuffed inside a black scaly covering. The scales were of various sizes—the size of a large dinner plate on his chest and stomach; the size of the palm of Andy’s hand, on his sides, back, and neck. Occasional smallish spikes protruded along his spine in a single row, which split into two rows by the time it got to his powerful tail. They were about 6 or 8 inches apart there. His mouth, with its protruding tips of his teeth, commanded respect, as did the size of the retractable claws on his front and hind paws. And he had horns—quite formidable horns. However, his frightening appearance masked a kind soul.
As soon as Andy saw the black silhouette in the cage, vague doubts began to cloud his mind. He had seen this life form before somewhere, he was sure. Three days later, when the phony half-wolf learned to counter the muteness spell, they had their first conversation, most of which took place in gestures, signs, and various types of question-and-answer techniques. The rest of it was more fruitful; it confirmed the doubts that were tormenting Andy. The black dragon was the one from the bald hill. At the question, “Why didn’t you fly away?” his neighbor shook his wing, and Andy saw a scar that was scabbing over on the membrane. That’s how it went with them—questions and silent answers, although sometimes the dragon growled.
The time Andy didn’t spend on one-sided conversations, he used to study his magical potential and abilities. A few methods remained in his mind that had been transferred to him from the now deceased Alo Troi. The despised shackles of notrium would not let him really get down to business since they almost cut him off from the source of his energy, but he was still able to gather and accumulate crumbs of mana. When the square was empty, and the guards had retired to their booths, Andy would experiment. The best ways to heal from his wounds after being bombarded with the rotten stuff were determined by the “Three F” method: finger, flame, flight. He learned to light little fires between his fingers and control them according to his will. In their first conversation, he asked the dragon whether mages in this world could create lightning and got a no for an answer. Andy was disappointed. He had studied very meticulously the nature of electricity, which had so lovingly touched him on Earth, and carefully read everything there was to read on that subject. He had wanted to know why he was obliged to stay away from computers.